Shiver Me Timber
by rhombus
Summary: Summary: Kyle/Oliver AU crackfic. Pirates! Arrrrr!


**Shiver Me Timber**

_8=====8_

_Parrrrt I_

The ship creaked over a rolling surge of water as the new recruits stumbled their way on deck. Kyle rubbed a finger along his stubbled chin and inspected them each as they came aboard, some struggling against their escorts, others as docile as housemaids.

"Welcome aboard the _Diamond Solitaire_, lads." His boot heels thudded against the wooden deck as he marched along their trembling line. "I'm Captain Kyle Lewis. This here is the crew." He gestured toward his men, standing in less-than-perfect order behind him. "And you, my boys, are now soldiers for a cause."

One of them looked up at that, staring him straight on. His bright blue eyes were full of questions, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Well-trained, that one.

"And the cause," Kyle continued with a grin, "is piracy." A few of the crew hooted in pleasure behind him.

Blue Eyes hardened his face at that. Kyle felt his mouth water. So, they'd gotten themselves an _incorruptible_ in this lot. They were always fun for a challenge. Kyle halted in front of him and looked him up and down. Blue Eyes kept his stare straight forward, accepting the perusal with an odd sort of self-righteous dignity.

Kyle frowned. He wouldn't last long. Too honorable to lower himself to a criminal's life, no doubt. A shame, really. Such a waste of a pretty face...

He circled around Blue Eyes, inspecting him as if he were a stallion on the chattel block. Strong legs. Sturdy build. Probably a fine sailor, in his former life.

_And that ass._

Kyle licked his lips. He couldn't help himself. The boy was carrying a couple of sea chests on his rear, like two succulent casabas, sweet and fleshy. He could almost swear those perky mounds were reaching out to his hands, as plants reach out to the sun, begging for consideration and care.

But now was not the time for that. Now was the time for hard lessons and hard training.

Other... hard things would just have to wait their turn.

He circled back around to the front of the line. "Now, seeing as how this here is a pirate ship, and we value things like fairness and honesty..." A few of the crew snickered behind him. "You new recruits have a choice. You can stay here on this lovely ship." He slapped his palm against the thick mast. "Become one of us. And share in the wealth of our ill-gotten gains... Or, if that doesn't suit you, we can drop you off by the nearest port."

That elicited a few gasps. As he knew it would. Fresh picks were always so shocked at the kindness and generosity of their new captain. Kyle smiled inwardly.

"Your choice. Really. And be honest now. I do so appreciate an honest man." He flashed a glance at Blue Eyes, and the inward smile pushed its way out. Blue Eyes squinted at him, gaze full of distrust.

_Atta boy._ Kyle felt a swell of pride, as if he had already laid claim to the lad. Clearly the cleverest one in the group. Skeptical. And with every reason to be. Maybe there was hope for his incorruptible yet. At least he seemed to have a brain atop those brutish shoulders.

Kyle whistled, gestured at a few of his crew, and pointed toward their seized prize. "Take the ship ashore, boys. Keel her, clean her, and sail her to Port Majesty. We'll see you there." Four sailors jogged past him toward the commandeered vessel. As the last one passed, Kyle reached out and grabbed hold of his ragged, dirty collar. "And if we _don't_ see you there..." He narrowed his eyes menacingly. "There'll be hell to pay. You got that?"

The man—Stevens—nodded. "Aye aye, Cap'n."

"Spoils for all, even divisions, when we sell her off," Kyle said, releasing Stevens. He turned back to the line of nervous, bruised captives. "That's how we do things. It's the code, me dearies. Everyone gets an even share. Even yours truly." He patted himself softly on the chest. "You won't find a merchant rover with half the fair deals as you'll find on the _Solitaire_. So... make your choice." He quirked an eyebrow. "Those of you staying aboard, stand your ground. Those of you lubbers who'd rather make nice with dry land, step forward."

A few of the captives looked up and down the line with interest. Two young men, at the forrard side, nodded at each other and then took a tentative step up. Two more quickly followed. Kyle watched his lovely incorruptible closely. The lad's feet stayed rooted to the spot.

With the four men up, that left eight in the line. A good haul. He'd have to commend his pressgang for their restraint. Hardly a man wasted in the fight.

"Gentlemen," Kyle said to the four decliners, "I am sorry to see you go." He snapped his fingers and the strongest members of his crew stepped forward and grabbed the men out of the line, forcibly moving them by the shoulders to the back of the ship. "But I'm sure you'll have a lovely stay on _Isla Muerta_. For as long you can, that is."

The men tensed, and fear drenched their faces as realization struck. "No!" one of them cried out. "I'll stay. I'll stay!"

"Too late," Kyle said with a sad shake of his head. "It's my pride, you see." He laid his palm over his heart. "Once rejected, I find it hard to forgive. No, it's better for both of us this way. We need to put it all behind us and move on."

The deserters struggled against their larger captors, but to no avail.

"I assume you can all swim, correct?" Kyle said. He shielded the sun from his eyes and squinted across the ocean toward a small, dry island less than a league away. "As promised, gentlemen. The nearest port."

Before the men had time to respond, or to plead again to stay aboard, they were pushed over the side of the ship, one after the other. As each new _thunk!_ hit the water, a few of the other men in line, the ones who had elected to remain with the ship, flinched. Some of them hid behind their hands, while others stared at him with wide-eyed fear.

But not Blue Eyes. His face was set in stone. Hard and angry and unyielding.

"You're just gonna leave them to die?" he barked out, a little too rebelliously.

In less than a second, Kyle had Blue Eyes by the collar, his fist in a tight grip, pulling the fabric tight over the unmarred skin of his neck. He dragged him up close, so close their noses touched. "There are worse ways to die, boy," Kyle growled.

Blue Eyes let out a warm breath, right onto Kyle's mouth. Kyle glanced down at his plump, reddened lips, then released his collar. _Not here. Not now.___

_Not ever_, he thought to himself with resignation.

"There's a bullet to the belly," he continued, trying to stay focused. "Knife to the lung..." He sliced a finger across Blue Eyes' chest and watched with excited interest as the lad's breath hitched, his lips trembled, and his eyelids finally fluttered with fear. It was an altogether... stimulating image.

_Delicious._

"Worse than that!" one of the crew called out, momentarily breaking the spell. "Death by Jolly Rogering!"

A roar of laughter erupted from the deck, but Kyle only smiled and looked over his newest acquisition again. The lad could use a good rogering, but only if he wanted it. And incorruptible lads would never...

"How old are you, sailor?" Kyle asked.

"One and twenty."

Only a year his junior.

"And your name?"

"Fish." A defiant stare, followed quickly by: "Sir."

"_Fish?_" Kyle laughed. "Bilge!" He swung an arm theatrically toward his men. "We've got ourselves a comedian!"

"That's my name," he ground out through a clenched jaw. "And I'd ask you to _respect_ it," he said, staring straight ahead, "if I thought you had a smidgen of a clue what that word meant."

"And I'd ask you to be careful, bucko," Kyle replied, "but I like a little vinegar in me lads." He strolled behind Fish, then ran two fingers down his spine. "You hiding a fin back here?"

His hand made a loud _thwack!_ing noise as it came down hard on Fish's derriere. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, but when he saw Fish's reaction, he didn't much care. The lad stiffened, straightened his back and shoulders even more, and clasped his hands tightly in front of him. He was breathing hard through his mouth, and his eyes were as wide and dark as the depths of the sea.

Kyle's own breathing quickened at the sight of him all riled up. _Sweet Jupiter's ghost._ He thought it prudent to clasp his own hands in front of him, to hide the signs of his growing arousal. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, hoping to calm himself. He had a ship to run, spoils to be gained, an ocean to battle. He couldn't be wasting his time with beautiful distractions.

He quickly strode away from temptation. "Careful, men," he called out. "Looks like we might have ourselves a genuine merman amongst us. Is that bad luck, they say?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Who gives a fuck? Weigh anchor! New recruits... swab these filthy decks! What are we? Barbarians?"

He heard a few snickers of laughter, followed by low chatter as the men returned to their everyday duties.

He circled back toward Fish and leaned in. "Let's hope you're as good at sea as your name would have us believe." With a seriousness that surprised even himself, he laid a hand on Fish's upper arm and spoke quietly in his ear, "For your sake."

_8=====8_

_Parrrrt II_

Fish, as it turned out, was not quite as seaworthy as hoped. He wasn't completely hopeless out there, but he his penchant for over-thinking things sometimes got in the way of his work. Little mistakes, usually, that resulted in broken equipment or torn sails. Things that could be mended or replaced, but shouldn't have needed repair in the first place.

And as middling as Fish was as a sailor, he was worse as a pirate. He hardly ever drank, didn't curse, and wouldn't take his share of the spoils. Kyle could tell the other men were a little wary around him. Pirates only trusted those as untrustworthy as themselves, after all.

But Kyle liked him. He was a funny lad. A little too earnest sometimes, but generally cheerful and energetic in his work, despite the terrible inconvenience of being pressed into a life of piracy. Kyle found himself spending much more time Fish than any of the other new recruits, or even any of his seasoned crew. He usually wasn't much for socializing, but somehow that all changed with Fish. He took his meals with him, instead of in his quarters, and enjoyed arguing with him over the finer points of morality and philosophy. He imagined Fish took their conversations a little more seriously than he did. But if it got the boy to like him back, he'd play along.

And maybe it was working, because every so often Fish would drop his guard and smile at him. It maybe happened because Kyle said something funny, or because Fish was embarrassed by some scandalous story, but Kyle found himself looking for ways to make it happen more, and when it did, when Fish would shine another one his way, he savored it, never knowing if it would be the last.

He had to be careful, though. He knew he shouldn't form bonds with the fodder. Very few of them ever made it out of their first real skirmish alive. Which maybe was why Kyle had been playing it safe for the past few months. No risky feats. Nothing that would put his crew in danger.

By doing so, the one he was really putting in danger was himself. If the crew ever turned against him for going soft... Well. They wouldn't be too kind in their coup.

His easy charm and a quick wit in tough situations had helped elect him to his captaincy—despite his young age—but he feared this strange infatuation with Fish would work just as quickly to get him un-elected. He couldn't go easy on the lad forever, letting his mistakes slide with naught more than a stern warning, avoiding the riskier fights that would yield them more gold. He'd have to take Fish to task eventually, or they'd both be feeling the wrath of a pirate crew incensed.

"Ship ahoy, Cap'n!" Higgins called out from the lookout's post in the crow's nest. Kyle strode to the front of the ship and stretched out his arm for a looking glass. Stevens handed one over. Sure enough, a small warship was in their sights, flying the fleur-de-lys of the French Navy. He handed the telescope back to Stevens.

"How many guns would you say she has?" Kyle asked.

"At least twenty, Cap'n."

"We can't match her. This isn't our dogfight, boys," he said to the crew at hand. "Keep her distant, and don't attract any unwanted attention."

"Should we gain speed, Cap'n?"

"Steady as she goes," Kyle ordered. "_Nothing_ out of the ordinary. I mean it."

It was another fight he was avoiding. Another danger to protect his men from. To protect Fish from. He knew it was the right thing to do, but still. How could the entrance of one person in his life change it so dramatically?

They inched along at a leisurely pace, keeping their distance from the warship. She was still a good distance away when they passed, starboard to starboard. Kyle held his breath, the slowly released it.

But his relief was short-lived.

A mighty boom shook the whole length of the ship. She rocked unsteadily along her hull. Kyle could see the telltale sign of blue-gray smoke coming from the French ship's guns. She had fired on them, and by the smell of singed wood climbing up through the decks, they'd taken a hit.

"All hands!" Kyle shouted, shifting into Captain's mode without a second's thought. "Gunners below decks. Get at least a round off before we turn tail and hotfoot it the hell outta here. You there!" he called out to the nearest sailor. "We've been hit starboard-side, in the bow, I think. Find the damage, fix her up. You think you can handle that?"

"Aye aye, Cap'n!"

Another shot rang out, and the ship lurched. He could hear timber cracking, could smell blood on the deck. He rushed toward the ship's bow, where he heard men yelling at each other. He pulled his jacket off and began tearing at the seams. It wouldn't make the best bandage, but it was something.

Suddenly he felt himself pushed forward; his sternum pounded against the ship's starboard rail, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He watched with strangled confusion as his gun and cutlass were pulled from his belt, thrown overboard, and plonked down into the cold, unforgiving sea.

There was someone up against him, his wet clothes soaking through to Kyle's.

_A mutiny_, he thought. _At a time like this. Fuck me sideways._

"Not enough loot in the last booty, eh, old boy?" he tried to joke, coughing and wheezing through each word. He knew he sounded pitiful, but that was usually what happened when one was about to die.

It was only when the man spoke that Kyle fully understood what was going on.

"I don't want your money," he said with a low, Danish accent. "I want your blood." His elbow dug into the back of Kyle's neck painfully.

He'd been blindsided by a damned swimmer. An assassin. Hired mercenaries in the French navy sent paddling with knives in their mouths to climb aboard an enemy ship and rid her of her officers while the chaos of battle ensued. Expendable killers, thirsty for combat like their viking ancestors of old.

Kyle struggled against his assailant, but it was no use. One arm was in a vice-like grip behind his back and the other was pinned by his own chest in front of him. He had no leverage, no weapon, only the knowledge that he was about to leave this world, without a fight.

The knife's edge glinted off the reflective surface of the ocean.

_This is it_, he thought, as the blade came slicing down toward his neck.

A blast of heat near his face. A loud sound, like thunder. Blood spattered on his cheek. He expected pain, but all he felt was lightness, and air returning to his lungs. Suddenly his arms were free, and he was able to move, and there was a noise like a body hitting the surface of the ocean. He looked down. The Dane's head crested the surface, then his arms. He clutched a bleeding hand with the other, then dipped back below the surface, gliding away like a sea creature, wounded but unhindered.

Kyle swiveled around, taking in his surroundings. The knife on the deck below him, spattered with blood. He checked his neck. Not a scratch. The Dane's blood, then.

He looked up. Across the deck, coming up the stairs to the ship's prow, was Fish, his gun raised and still smoking.

_8=====8_

_Parrrrt III_

They were in just the dogfight Kyle had been desperate to avoid. One they clearly couldn't win, out-gunned and out-manned. He strode along the decks, shouting orders. Fish followed behind him, tracking his every step like a faithful dog.

"What should I do?" Fish offered.

Kyle turned and grabbed him by the shoulders. He wanted to tell him to get below decks, or to take one of the boats and run. Just do anything that would put him out of harm's way. But he didn't. He just stared at him, his mouth hanging open like a fool.

"Are they taking water?" Fish asked, breaking him out of his odd trance.

"What?"

"The French? Are they hit below the surface?" He had turned his head and was staring out across the channel to the other vessel.

"Maybe..." Kyle didn't know where he was going with his questions.

"What if we—what if we stopped aiming at the mast? What if we went for the hull? That would slow them down for any pursuit. We could probably out run them."

Kyle opened his mouth, ready to cite fault with Fish's plan... but he couldn't. It was a good one. And probably their only hope for survival.

"By Jove, this may work! Yes," he said to Fish. "Do it. "

"Me?" Fish squeaked out. And it was fucking adorable. Kyle would have pulled him in for a celebratory kiss had other matters not been more pressing.

"Yes you, you damned fool. Get below, tell the gunners to aim low, try to hit them at the surface, or just underneath." He stared at an unmoving Fish expectantly. "Now would be good."

"Aye aye!" Fish said, then started backwards, lifting an awkward hand to his head in salute.

Kyle ordered the rest of his men to prepare the ship for retreat. He kept an eye out, too, for any more swimmers sneaking aboard.

A new round of cannon fire rang out from below. He could hear most of the shots hit water instead of timber. But a few, oh, a precious few hit their targets. He grabbed a telescope and peered at the enemy ship. He could just make out a dark ring of newly damaged wood, splintered and broken, just at her side where the water lapped against her.

"Atta boy," he said to himself.

A second round of fire blasted from the _Solitaire_. The gunners must have readjusted their aims, because this time he heard many more hits. The other vessel's own guns had slowed their assault. He imagined many of the gunners were otherwise occupied trying to repair the damage to the lower decks.

"That's it!" he called out. "Let's get the hell outta here!"

Newly mended sails were raised, the ship's prow turned, and their enemy slowly grew smaller in the distance. The French vessel tried to make chase, for a little while, but the _Solitaire_ was naturally faster, and was taking much less water.

Soon enough, she was naught but a black spot on the horizon, crowned by blue smoke and enclosed by the great blue expanse of the sea.

Some of the men cheered, while other tended the wounded or made repairs to the battered ship. Fish came bounding out from below decks, his hands blackened by gun powder. Kyle smiled at him; Fish smiled back. If Kyle didn't know any better, he'd have called it a genuine _moment_ between them. He was grateful to see the other man alive and in one piece, and he had to stop himself from rushing toward Fish and pulling him into his arms.

Instead, he made to inspect the ship, distracting his mind from all things _Fish_. It didn't really help, except to put him in a sour kind of mood.

"Why'd they attack us, you suppose?" he asked aloud.

"Cap'n. Look." Stevens pointed up the mast, where french colors billowed in the wind.

"Shit. How long have we been flying that?"

"Don't know, sir. Not before we spotted her, I don't think."

Well, that explained it. Kyle grit his teeth and turned to the crew. "Who in the bloody fuck ran up a flag? We were trying to stay _out_ of her attention, you idiots!"

The crew remained quiet. Kyle asked again. "Who was it?"

And his heart fell the moment that Fish's head did.

"It was me," Fish said, biting his lip, staring at his boots. "I did it."

"Sonuvabitch!" Stevens yelled, lunging at the lad. Kyle stepped between them before the boy got clobbered.

"Stevens! Back off. I'll deal with him." He glared at Stevens, gripping his coat lapel until the man took a step back, his hands lifted in retreat. Kyle turned to Fish and stepped in, right into his face. "Why the hell would you run up the French colors with them in our sights?"

"I—I thought—" Fish swallowed. He was still staring down, at his feet. Kyle grabbed him by the chin and lifted his face. "If they thought we were a French vessel, they'd leave us alone," he finished.

Kyle released his grip on Fish's face, then let out a sigh. All his anger drifted off with that sigh, replaced with disappointment. Disappointment and regret. Because he knew what needed to be done. What he finally had to do. What he'd been putting off for far too long.

"Bring me the cat o' nine, Stevens," he said with a heavy breath.

Fish's eyes grew wide. "Cap'n?"

"You don't raise new colors when another ship's in sight. It's a dead giveaway. It's painting giant letters on the side of the ship: Here be pirates."

"I didn't know." Fish gulped. "I thought I was helping."

Kyle reached his hand back, without removing his gaze from Fish's, and felt the rough handle of the cat o' nine as Stevens slapped it down onto his palm. Fish winced, as if his punishment had already begun.

"I thought I helped," he repeated, his voice gone incredibly quiet.

Kyle gave him a rueful smile. "You did."

And he had. He'd saved Kyle's very life. He'd helped slow up their enemy so they could make their escape. That had to count for something. Kyle couldn't get away with _not_ punishing him, but perhaps he could manage to save a little of Fish's dignity in the manner of punishment.

"My quarters," he said to Fish, loud enough for all the crew to hear.

"What? Why?" It was Stevens. Kyle turned to him with a hard face.

"Because I said so, Stevens. We don't have time to waste while everyone watches the show. You lot," he called out to the sailors by the tiller. "Back to work! No distractions!" He stared at Stevens again. "No distractions."

Stevens nodded, then returned to his duties, hustling the other men into action too.

"Thank you," Fish mouthed.

Kyle grabbed him by the arm and tugged him toward the ladder leading below decks.

"Don't thank me yet, Fish."

_8=====8_

_Parrrrt IV_

"Drink this." Kyle handed Fish a flask of cheap bourbon. Fish eyed the flask warily, then took a short swig.

"Take off your shirt," Kyle demanded. They were alone in his quarters, and oh, how he wished he were saying that under different circumstances.

Fish creased his brow in confusion. "What?"

"I said—" Kyle reached out and roughly pulled the top button out of Fish's collar. "Take off your shirt."

"But I thought—"

"I'm not running a charity here, boy. You fucked up. Almost got us all killed."

"I saved you!"

Kyle instantly softened. "I know." His fingers returned to Fish's shirt, unbuttoning it, but less aggressively this time. "I wish that meant I didn't have to do this."

"Then don't!"

Kyle shook his head. "I have to."

"This is so unfair," Fish whined. He may have even stomped his foot on the ground.

Kyle had the shirt fully unbuttoned, and Fish swatted his hands away, tugging his shirt off his shoulders with something like a rebellious pout on his face. It was kind of cute, in a maddening way.

"If you're going to act like a child, then I will treat you like a child," Kyle said. Which put a sudden thought in his head. He laid the cat o' nine on his table and reached under his cot for one of his night slippers instead. A relic from his old life, but perfect for what he had in mind.

"Up against that post," he ordered. Fish's shoulders dropped, but he did as he was told.

Kyle contemplated the sight before him. Fish, his arms resting above his head, naked from the waist up, exposed and at his mercy. He gripped the base of the slipper in his hand.

Instead of thrashing Fish's back with the leather whip, he'd give that tasty bottom of his a drubbing worth writing home about.

The first crack came down hard. He heard Fish stifle a groan against his forearm. Another swing came down, another groan. But Kyle noticed something else. A little bit of a disparity between Fish's flinching upper body and his lower. He lifted his arm up, readying for another swing, and held it an extra moment longer.

Yes. Fish's backside moved outward—just the smallest movement—pushing closer to Kyle, as if it were coming to meet the next swing. Which came down just as hard as the first two. Fish groaned again. But his ass—oh his perky, happy little ass. He was angling it up, now. Up and out, inviting the next swing.

He wanted it.

Kyle brought his arm down, fast, then again, in quick succession, surprising Fish. He did it again, three, four, five more times. Fish's groans grew higher in pitch, and more desperate.

And it was turning Kyle on like nothing before in his life. He stopped for a moment, attempting to compose himself. Fish turned his head, just slightly, and implored Kyle with a sloe-dark eye.

"Please," he panted. "Please, please..."

Kyle held his next swing. "Please what? Stop?" He stepped in close, close enough that his arousal poked up against Fish's ass. Close enough to whisper in Fish's ear. "Or more?"

Fish shook his head. "Don't know. I need..." He closed his eyes and swallowed. "I don't know."

Kyle peered over Fish's shoulder and saw the obvious bulge tenting his trousers.

"I think I do," he said. He reached around and unfastened the waistband of Fish's britches, letting them drop to the floor. Fish, without a word, stepped out of them, his cock at full-mast, then returned to his position against the post, ready and waiting for whatever new punishment Kyle was to give him.

Kyle knelt behind him and contemplated Fish's exposed, pink flesh, inflamed and swollen from the smacking. He gently grabbed Fish by the hips and traced his thumbs along the undersides of Fish's bottom, watching with fascination as he trembled and gooseflesh popped all over his thighs. Fish was still breathing hard, every breath a little moan of pain, or pleasure, or both. Kyle leaned in and gently curled his tongue over a pinkened cheek. Fish tensed; Kyle could see his fingernails digging in to the wood of the post.

One swipe to wet the area, then he pulled back, puckered his lips, and blew out.

"_Ahh!_" Fish clutched the post harder and his hips jerked so far forward Kyle almost lost his grip on them.

Enough with the foreplay. Kyle's dick was straining so hard against his trousers he thought it might rip the fabric. He climbed to his feet and grabbed Fish around the middle, urging him back so that his naked body was flush against Kyle's fully-clothed.

Kyle leaned in and nipped at a lobe, then whispered roughly into the lad's ear.

"Ye gods, I wanna fuck that pretty pink ass of yours, Fish."

"Oliver," Fish breathed out, struggling with each syllable. His voice was so low and tense.

"What?"

"My name." He swallowed, licked his lips, closed his eyes. "My name is Oliver."

Kyle smiled. It felt like a possessive smile. "All right, Oliver. What do you say?" Kyle caressed Oliver's stomach, then leaned in and placed an open-mouthed kiss on his shoulder, his teeth barely grazing his skin. "Can I fuck you?"

Oliver nodded his head sharply. "_Yes_." Kyle would have asked him to say more, to tell him exactly what he wanted, but he didn't need to, because Oliver opened his eyes and said, through panting breaths, "Fuck me. _Please._"

Kyle couldn't remember ever being so turned on in his life. He made a guttural noise in the back of his throat. Words were things he used to know how to speak, back in the time before Oliver Fish begged him for a fuck. He grabbed Oliver around the middle and artlessly walked with him the two paces needed to get them to his small dining table, shoved his charts and grease pens to the floor with an elbow, then urged Oliver to bend over it. Oliver complied, very willingly, resting his cheek against the wood and reaching out to grip the other edge of the table with both hands.

Kyle shoved his own pants down and out of the way, taking a moment to relish his dick's new-found freedom, then he was opening Oliver up, quickly with two fingers, spreading his cheeks, and finally—_finally_—sliding in.

Oliver lifted up onto his tip-toes when Kyle was all the way inside and made a desperate, keening noise that sent heat rushing throughout all of Kyle's body.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Kyle panted.

All Oliver managed in return was an urgent "_Kyle._" Then he rocked his body back with an impatient little whine. Kyle thought he might explode then and there.

So much heat, and the way Oliver's body gripped him, like it never wanted him to leave—Kyle didn't know how long he could take it. He grabbed onto Oliver's sides and began rolling into him, barely pulling back before sinking all the way in again. He kept it slow at first, but gained speed with each thrust. Oliver had released his grip on the table with one hand and was cupping himself, stroking himself in time with each plunge. And the noises he was making. _God_, the noises! Grunts and gasps and little moans and big moans, hisses of pain on top of sighs of pleasure.

He could only imagine what the crew was thinking. But, fuck it all, he didn't care. If they mutinied, if they killed him, he didn't care. It was worth it. As Oliver reached back behind him, cupped his ass, and pulled him impossibly deeper, then laid his hand on Kyle's, still on his waist, and intertwined their fingers, Kyle knew it was worth it. This was a man worth giving up everything for. A man worth dying for.

But the sounds of the ship's repairs were sure to mask their loudest cries; the ever-constant swell of the ocean against the hull would swallow their more intimate ones.

He sank in to Oliver's body again, faster, harder, and Oliver arched his back, cried out, and clenched down on him so tightly Kyle thought his legs were going to collapse underneath him.

"Bed," he managed to squeak out. His lower body, all the way down to his toes, shivered with so much pleasure, he knew standing upright was no longer in his power.

It was an awkward tangle that got them from the dining table to the small cot. Once they were down, Kyle felt like he could take a moment to breathe and resettle. They were lying on their sides, and Oliver craned his neck around and kissed him, softly at first, almost tentatively, as if he weren't sure it was allowed. Kyle quickly put those doubts to rest and fell into the kiss, deepening it while he began pumping again. But he needed more. He needed to be closer. He grabbed Oliver by the knee and tugged up a little bit, letting him know without words what he wanted.

Oliver twisted his body and swung his leg up across Kyle's chest, while Kyle remained nestled deep inside. Oliver rolled onto his back, and now they were face to face. Kyle leaned in and kissed him again, his hips pistoned in faster, and it felt like every cell in his body was on fire. Everything was tight and tense and oh so good.

Oliver sucked on his lower lip, then bit down hard, and then he was coming with a deep, guttural moan, and then they were both coming, and Kyle felt like the entire ship would capsize from the force of his release as it pulsed out of him in wave after staggering wave.

He finally collapsed onto Oliver, their sweaty chests sticking and slipping with each heaving breath.

"I hope," Kyle panted out, "you learned your lesson... about..." He shook his head and felt exhausted laughter escape him. "...whatever it was."

"Yes, Cap'n," Oliver muttered, a sleepy smile on his face as his eyes drifted shut.

_8=====8_

_Parrrrt V_

"Do you want to do this forever?" Oliver asked.

Kyle looked down at their well-used naughty-bits and raised an eyebrow.

"Is that an offer?"

Oliver planted his chin on Kyle's shoulder. "I mean, y'know, the pirating. The gun-fights and the robbing and pillaging and murdering. Is that what you wanna do for the rest of your life?"

"I wasn't always this way." Kyle paused. How much to say? He picked at a thread on his coarse bedsheet. "I was... I was apprenticing to be a physician. In another life."

"What? Really?"

"Before all this. I mean, I wasn't exactly respected, didn't treat the well-to-do or anything like that. I was certainly never gonna be a rich man. Probably would've ended up in a butcher's shop, anyway."

"What happened to you?"

"You mean, how did I get to be such a scourge of the open seas?"

"Yeah." Oliver grinned. Just a small one, but Kyle saw it.

"The usual way. Got myself into some trouble at home, decided to start fresh, set sail."

"As a pirate?"

"No, that came later. The ship I was aboard was taken at sea. By pirates, of course. They killed almost everyone, except those who were useful to them. Trained sailors, or those of us with special skills."

Oliver pulled back. "So you just decided to join the men who murdered your shipmates?"

"Live or die, Oliver. That was my choice. I chose to live. I had no quarrel with those men. Pirating is a job like any other."

"I don't believe that. You were a physician."

"Apprenticing to be."

"You were supposed to help people. Not hurt them."

Kyle felt an unwelcome sliver of guilt curl around his heart. "I try not to hurt anyone."

"But those men! The ones you stranded."

Kyle pursed his lips. "Ah. Well. See, the thing is..."

"What?"

"That wasn't exactly _Isla Muerta_. It's a little port along the main line. I'm sure they've been picked up already; if they're smart, that is, and they know how to make a signal."

Oliver squinted at him, doubt painted across his features. "Really?"

"Yep," Kyle sighed, feeling like the world's worst pirate. But he didn't so much care about that when Oliver's warm cheek returned to his shoulder.

"You ever think of going back?" Oliver asked.

"Back? Back home?"

"Yeah."

"There's nothing for me there." He looked up at the wood-plank ceiling and ran a hand absently through Oliver's hair. "What about you? You miss home? You got parents? A wife?"

Oliver barked out a laugh. Or maybe he was choking; it was hard to tell. "N-no! Nope. No way. I mean, yes, parents. I have those. Definitely have those. But, uh, no wife."

"Huh," was all Kyle said in response.

"I was supposed to, y'know... I mean, there's this girl, back in Plymouth. When I returned, we were gonna... but, well. I didn't, and uh..."

"What?"

"I don't think I really want a wife." He said it with a certain amount of trepidation, as if the thought had never occurred to him until that very moment. He turned his eyes up to Kyle, and there was fear in them, fear that there was something wrong with him. That he wasn't as perfect as Kyle believed him to be.

Kyle stroked his cheek, then leaned in and gently kissed his nose. Oliver smiled, and the fear seemed to sink back down. Forgotten, at least for the time being.

"So this is it," Oliver said, staring at the ceiling. "Pirating, for the rest of your life?"

Kyle knew, in his heart, if Oliver asked him to give it all up, then and there, he'd have no choice but to consent. How could he not?

He _wanted_ to retire one day. Sooner rather than later. He just needed one big haul. He didn't need to be rich, but just enough to keep him comfortable for the rest of his days. Maybe open up his own little practice on an island somewhere. He'd always been able to close his eyes and see it so perfectly. His future.

Now when he did it, it surprised him—but maybe it shouldn't have—to see Oliver there with him. They could drink and play cards and smoke together, before retiring inside to do those others things he had recently found they were very good at doing together.

A life with Oliver on the sea, followed by a life with him on the land... Suddenly, there was nothing else on Earth he wanted more.

The only problem was Oliver. What he wanted. Which was probably to go home to his folks and live the life that Kyle had taken away from him.

His own dreams for the future? Flights of fancy. Nothing more. They'd pass just as quickly as they formed. One good fuck did not a future make.

_It's more than that. And you know it._

"Oliver, I—"

"You what?"

Maybe, for once in his life, he'd try doing the right thing. "If you don't want to stay, I'll understand."

"Where would I go?" Oliver chuckled. "I can barely move my legs."

Kyle smiled, but then he quickly sobered. "I mean aboard the _Solitaire_. If—if you want to be let off at Port Majesty, y'know, find real work, join another merchant ship, find your way home... I won't stop you. I won't let anyone stop you."

Oliver rolled away from him slightly, then dragged a hand through his hair. "You don't want me on your crew?"

Kyle opened his mouth in surprise. He hadn't expected that. Oliver looked... he looked downright dejected. Kyle reached out a hand and cupped Oliver's cheek, trying to get him to turn his face toward him.

"Oliver... look at me."

Oliver was getting better at following direct orders, and soon those beautiful blue eyes were locked on his.

"I want you on this ship," Kyle said with conviction. "Hell, I want you in this bed, for as long as you'll stay." It was as tenderhearted as he was willing to get, but some things had to be said.

"You... you would let me go?" Oliver finally said. "Without a fight?"

Kyle tried to hide his disappointment. "Yes. If that's what you want."

"But why?" Oliver looked genuinely confused. It was fucking adorable, is what it was, and distracting, too. How was Kyle supposed to explain himself when he had an overgrown pup staring at him with that darling mug of a face?

He scrambled to find an answer that would save him any embarrassment, should Oliver take him up on his offer.

"You, uh, you saved me out there today. Saved my life. You didn't have to."

Oliver looked at him like he wasn't speaking the King's English.

"You're my captain." Said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But you were staying so clean. You could have claimed prisoner status, that you were a pressed man. Could've gotten off this ship then and there, if you wanted. Had the battle gone against us." Kyle's mouth was moving faster than his mind. "You hadn't done any actual piracy. Technically."

"I know."

"You've shot a man now. A mercenary, yes, but a navy-man, too." His mind was starting to catch up, finally. Oliver was here. With him. And, maybe... maybe that was where he wanted to be.

"I didn't kill him," Oliver said.

"No." Kyle smiled. Relief washed over him. Relief and something else. Something deeper. Sweeter. It warmed his heart and all through his body. He ran his fingers through Oliver's coarse chest hair. "You didn't kill him. But you shot him." _For me_, he mentally added.

"I'm a..." A look of realization spread over Oliver's face. "Oh God. I'm a pirate now."

Kyle shook his head. "You're _my_ pirate," he said, and then he kissed him on that gorgeous mouth of his.

_8=====8_

_Epilarrrrgue_

"Ready the top-sails, mateys! We've caught the wind." Kyle paced the decks, readying the _Diamond Solitaire_ for another journey across the sea. He'd heard tell the _HMS Buchanan_ had left port, carrying in her underbelly treasures untold. "Hard a-lee!" His men worked in perfect unison, a well-oiled machine. A better crew couldn't be found in the whole of the West Indies.

He noticed one of his sailors in particular, bent over a table, scribbling madly on a piece of slate.

"Fish!" he called out to him, striding forward.

"Yes, Cap'n?" Fish stood up straight, much to Kyle's disappointment. He preferred him positioned otherwise.

Kyle glanced around Fish's shoulder and pointed to the sextant and map he'd been working with. "These calculations are sloppy."

Fish's head shot up, an offended look on his face.

Kyle tried to suppress his grin. He found it much harder to suppress the wink.

"How many times am I going to have to discipline you, boy, before you get it right?"

Fish's eyes grew wide as realization dawned. He set his shoulders and stared him right in eyes. "As much as it takes, Cap'n."

"My quarters, you gull-brained, pathetic excuse for a pirate!" Kyle knew he was laying it on a little thick, but he couldn't help himself. There was just something so entrancing about Fish's highly-offended, withering glares. "The rest of you lot?" he said to the crew, some of whom had stopped to watch the confrontation go down. "Get back to work, or I'll have all your guts for garters!"

"Aye aye!" they called out as Kyle marched Fish below decks.

Thirty minutes later, clothes shed and body bushed, Oliver rolled onto his back and said through strained breaths, "Was the work really—really that sloppy?"

Kyle crawled on top of him, straddling his waist. "You just need more practice." He grinned. "With the sextant." He leaned down and kissed one nipple, then the other. "And I'd be chuffed to give you as many lessons as you needed, me beauty." He looked deep into those soulful eyes and added, softly, "Me love."

Suddenly he was on his back, Oliver on top of him, the whole glorious length of his body pressing against his.

"How's that?" Oliver asked, eyes ablaze. "Better?"

"Much," Kyle breathed out. He wrapped his legs around Oliver's waist again. "Now, find the horizon. Line up your sights. That's it. _Ohh_," he panted. "Mmm. Yes. That's _very_ much it..."

_8=====8_

_This Be The End... Yo-Ho!_


End file.
